


A New Beginning

by SilverInk



Category: The Eagle of the Ninth - Rosemary Sutcliff
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Domestic, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Light Angst, Multi, Platonic Life Partners, Post-Canon, farming, not romantic but still pretty sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 11:47:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18249212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverInk/pseuds/SilverInk
Summary: Marcus, Esca, and Cottia start their life on the farm; Marcus thinks about his father and the journey to find the Eagle, and he finally feels ready to share the story of the Ninth Legion with Cottia.





	A New Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> My copy of _The Eagle of the Ninth_ has a set of discussion questions in the back, and one of them says, "Cottia wants Marcus to tell her the story of the Ninth Legion. Why isn't he ready to share the story? Tell the story as he might relate it to Cottia." I thought it would make a good story, so I ran with it!

The first year of Marcus’s new life, a life of farming with the two people dearest to him at his side, was not easy, but it was good. It reminded Marcus of how he had felt when he began his command at the fort of Isca Dumnoniorum: it was a challenge, but a good and satisfying challenge because farming, like soldiering, was work that he loved and that was in his blood. To his surprise, he had to teach both Esca and Cottia much about farming; for Esca had been royalty among his people and had never had to learn these things, beyond the care of the horses he loved, and Cottia had only learned a little about horses before going to live with her aunt in Calleva. So, the knowledge and coordinating of the work fell to Marcus, though with everything else they had to do that year, they only managed to plant a few small crops.

They built a house and a stable for the horses and cows, all of wattle-and-daub, with Cub running between their legs and barking joyfully. After many weeks of work they were finished, and Marcus, sore and worn out but proud, looked around at the countryside bathed in the honey gold light of sunset and thought to himself how very different this was from the life he’d always imagined for himself. What would Marcus of five years ago have said if he was told that in the near future, he would not be fighting for the glory of Rome, but living happily as a civilian in Britain, on a farm with his two closest friends, discharged from the army with a lame leg? He would undoubtedly have thought whoever told him such a thing to be mad, Marcus was sure. And yet, here he was. Marcus smiled a little wryly to himself, and it changed to a proper grin when he caught Esca’s eyes.

Yes, it was an odd life, but Marcus would not change it for anything.

The second year was easier—they hired a man to help them and were able to focus more on the crops and the horses, and Marcus even planted a terrace of grape vines, though it proved difficult to keep Cub from eating them.

The third year, one of their horses gave birth, and Esca spent long days out training the colt, and it seemed so _right_ for him to be doing it that it made something in Marcus’s chest ache with happiness. He would often watch the other man work, and Esca told him how horses were trained among his own people. Ever since the two of them had come back from the north, Esca had worn his hair long in the style of the tribesmen, and now he was letting his mustache grow out as well. He looked every inch a free British tribesman, and Marcus greatly and rather unexpectedly enjoyed this display of self-expression from his friend.

In late spring, they planted proper crops and built a bee house on the outskirts of the land, and Marcus started to feel like they’d all truly gotten used to their life here. Marcus himself felt settled, and so used to farming now that he almost couldn’t believe he’d ever lived any other way. That autumn the harvest took much longer than it had before, since they’d planted much larger crops and still only had one man to help them, and so by winter Marcus felt the old ache of his wounded leg intensely. Not so badly that he was forced to stay in bed, but it hurt him to walk, and he felt unsteady enough on his feet that he couldn’t do much to take care of the animals, even using a stick for support.

He spent most of the time inside and out of the bitter cold, though, and he took over most of the preparation of meals, which he remembered from his time as a soldier. It came back to him easily, he found, and he was good at it. It helped to be useful in some way, but he still hated being reminded that he could be so easily shackled by the wound again. He couldn’t spend an entire day cooking and baking, so he ended up with lots of time to think and talk to Cub; as silly as he felt, he was grateful that his wolf had decided to stay inside with him even though it was surely more exciting to be outside with Esca and Cottia.

That winter, he spent a little more than two weeks like that, and with all that time to think, his mind wandered to the Eagle, the Ninth Legion, and his father. He knew it wouldn’t do any good to think about it, but he still half wished the Ninth could have been reformed. Dishonorable though most of the Legion had been, it had been important to both Marcus and his father. Marcus knew that returning the Eagle to Roman territory was enough to sufficiently honor his father and that it would’ve made his father proud, but he couldn’t help wishing more could’ve been done.

When he and Esca had returned from the north, Marcus had told Cottia he’d tell her about their discoveries about the Ninth Legion someday, and he had fully expected it to take a very long time for him to feel ready. Maybe they would have streaks of white in their hair, and Marcus would have to think back a long ways to remember the Ninth’s story. But now, suddenly, he felt the strong desire to share the story with her. He himself had come to terms with everything by now, and he felt that he would be able to share it, and that it might even heal and comfort him to do so, though it would surely not be easy in the telling. And Cottia deserved to hear the story, he thought.

 

***

 

That same evening, after Esca and Cottia had come in from their work, and after they had eaten the bread and stew that Marcus had made earlier, Marcus reached out to take Cottia’s wrist as she moved to stand from the table. She gave him a quick, questioning look, and Marcus took a breath and ran his tongue over his dry lips, suddenly a little nervous.

“Cottia, it is in my heart that there is something I must tell you.”

“What is it?” Cottia asked, sitting again and turning her hand to squeeze Marcus’s.

“I want to tell you of what Esca and I found out on our journey to find the Eagle,” he said. “I want to tell you what we learned of my father’s Legion.”

There was a pause. “Alright,” she said, her face growing serious, as he was sure his own must be. Esca stood from his own seat and touched Marcus’s shoulder before moving to take their dishes away.

“I will leave you then, for it is your story to tell, Marcus, it is your father and your Eagle.”

Marcus gave him a grateful smile, feeling that this might be easier to do with only himself and Cottia there. “Thank you, Esca.”

When Esca had left, Marcus took another deep breath and looked into Cottia’s curious, sharpened face. He opened his mouth to start, but no words came to him. He hadn’t thought much about what exactly he would say, he realized, and he didn’t know how he would start such a story.

“Marcus,” Cottia said, her voice careful and quiet, “you don’t have to tell me if you do not want to talk about it yet. Truly, you do not.” The almost shocking gentleness of her tone surprised him into looking her fully in the face again, and he remembered suddenly that she knew at least some of his struggle herself, having lost her own father when she was young. He shook his head.

“No, I want to tell you, Cottia. It is only that it’s harder to do than I expected.”

She held tightly to his hand. “Take however long you need to.”

At last he relaxed, and smiled a little, warmth filling his chest. “Thank you.” He thought for another moment, gathering his thoughts, then cleared his throat and started speaking. “It began when the Iceni queen Boudicca and her warriors rose against Rome; the Ninth was sent to quell the rising, but she and her people defeated them, and Boudicca laid a curse on them.” Marcus found himself unable to look her in the face as he talked of Boudicca, a queen of Cottia’s own tribe who was well-remembered by Romans and Britons both, though he could feel her eyes intent on his face. He half shook his head to the side, irritated with himself—it was Cottia's tribe who had done this, true, but it had nothing to do with Cottia herself, and as he went on, he made himself look at her.

Marcus was surprised at how difficult the story still was to tell, but he told Cottia everything he and Esca had learned from Guern and from Tradui. His voice was a little less steady than he would’ve liked when he spoke of the tribesmen hunting down his father and his men, but he did his best to not leave anything out. It took a long time, as it had when they’d learned the majority of the story from Guern, and Cottia listened to him patiently, her eyes never leaving his face.

At last, when he had finished, there was a long pause. “How did you learn all this?” Cottia asked quietly, her eyes wide in her sharp face.

“Esca and I happened to meet one of the Centurions who had served under my father.” Marcus almost laughed at how unusual it sounded to speak of it now, though it hadn’t seemed unusual at the time. It couldn’t have been pure coincidence; he’d felt even then that it must surely be the work of the gods. “He was living as a tribesman now, and he was hunting in a place where we had stopped for the night. He brought us to his home after a few days, and he had a British wife and children.”

There was a pause, and then Marcus pulled his hand out of hers to take off his father’s dolphin signet ring, which was hardly ever off his hand now. The green emerald caught the lamplight, and Marcus watched it a little wistfully for a moment before handing it to Cottia. “This was returned to me by the man who had killed my father, after Esca and I had lived among his tribe for a while. He told us he took the ring as a trophy, and when he had it returned to me, he gave the message that I should have it because I reminded him so much of my father.”

Marcus had told Cottia the ring had been his father’s, but he’d never explained exactly how he’d gotten it, and now looking at her face, she looked faintly horrified. She met his eyes, and opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it again silently. It was very unlike her, not to have any words on hand, and Marcus felt slightly guilty for that, even though it was very much a part of the story. She took his hand and opened her mouth again.

“Marcus, I am sorry for all of this,” she said, and something in his chest clenched a little. “I am glad that you trusted me with this, even though it was difficult to tell.” Her voice shook slightly, and now Marcus was the one struggling to speak. He had never thought to see her so upset to hear about the deaths of Roman Legionaries, and he knew she would not be if not for Marcus’s personal connection to this story.

“Cottia,” he murmured stumblingly, “I’m sorry this has upset you.”

She shook her head fiercely. “Do not apologize, Marcus. As I said, I am glad that you trusted me and felt comfortable enough to tell me all of this. I’m only upset that you had to find all this out, about your own father. That someone so dear to you suffered such a fate, and that you had to spend so much time being civil to the man who killed him.”

Marcus’s lips quirked into an unexpected smile, warm fondness filling him. “Thank you, Cottia.”

“I could _never_ be civil with such a man!” Cottia’s face was fierce, and she gripped his hand tightly.

“We came to somewhat of an understanding,” Marcus said carefully. “I suppose he was only doing what he felt was right. Defending his land. And he even seemed to have a respect for my father, from the way he talked of him, and from the trophy he took. Like—keeping the tusks of a boar after a hunt,” he added, remembering the old man’s words. They had almost sickened him at the time, but he understood the respect and admiration behind them more fully now.

Cottia nodded slowly, and Marcus could practically see her thinking it through. “I think I understand.”

 

***

 

Later that night, Marcus lay awake looking up at the ceiling and listening to the wind outside, while Esca and Cottia slept deeply beside him. He just lay there for a long time, then got up stiffly, pulled his heavy cloak over his shoulders, and stepped outside, trying to be quiet. Everything was bathed in cool crystal moonlight, and Marcus looked up to see the moon full and radiant, only partially obscured by clouds. He sighed softly, watching as the wind blew away the little cloud formed by his breath.

It had felt good to tell Cottia about his father’s Legion, he thought, and he was glad that she knew this about his life now. He felt closer to her now, trusting in a way he’d only felt with Esca before, and it made warmth glow in his chest to think of it. They were all three very close and dear to each other now, and Marcus, smiling, thought again of how different his life was now than he’d ever imagined it would be. He’d never expected the kind of relationship he had with Cottia and Esca, and that seemed to make it all the sweeter.

He heard a soft rumble of thunder in the distance and looked up at the sky again, seeing it much more cloudy than it had been. A drop of rain fell onto his cheek, and then another, until it turned into a faint drizzle, and Marcus tilted his face up to feel the gentle drops and taste the salt of it on his lips. The British weather was even starting to feel familiar to him now. As he went to go back inside, Marcus heard Esca’s voice and felt his hand on his shoulder.

“Marcus? Are you alright?”

Esca’s face, illuminated faintly in the moonlight, was concerned, and Marcus smiled softly. “Yes, more than alright, Esca.”

The other man smiled too and took Marcus’s hand, drawing him closer. “I wondered—how you were feeling after everything you talked about with Cottia,” he asked slowly.

“I feel glad to have told Cottia what I did,” Marcus told him. “I have no regret from sharing our experiences in the north with her.” Esca smiled and squeezed Marcus’s hand.

“Good.” Esca kissed his cheek and pulled him into the house again. Marcus allowed himself to be led inside and into the bedroom, where Esca lay down with a soft sigh and gently drew Marcus down next to him. He was able to sleep easily after that, feeling comforted to know that Esca and Cottia, the two people he loved and trusted most in the world, were both near him.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry about the weird ending lol I wasn't sure what to do with that...


End file.
